His blue-black wrists were covered in fine hair. There was a little flurry in my guts, like a butterfly settling on a flower the first day of spring.I...caught his eye in the mirror. His mouth curved into a smile before he looked away. I could smell the heat coming off him, almost taste it. In the mirror I could see the little beads of perspiration forming above his upper lip. It got me hard.He reminded me of an athlete - one of those guys who could run the 100 metres in less time it takes you to. They walked for an hour and a half nattering happily about nothing important but were both happily surprised when Grace slipped her hand into Terry’s. She had not even thought about it. She just did it. Terry took it, gave it a gentle squeeze and her an equally gentle smile. They walked on without a pause in conversation.They had their picnic, again simple but different: soup of course but then cold chipolata sausages followed by Brie cheese and tomato sandwiches washed down with lager. Terry. I knew exactly where this was leading, and I wanted to cry. I wanted to run away and hide so I didn’t have to hear what she was eventually going to say once she worked up the courage to say it out loud. I wasn’t going to freak out, or run, or even cry. That wasn’t going to happen. That was the old me. The new me wasn’t going to react that way. Well, except for crying; I was going to try not to cry, but I might actually do that.With my free hand I poured myself more lemon tea, and then sipped it. .don't stop! Go faster! Fuck me harder!" I plead.I start to climax, and I know he knows it. He goes faster, grabbing my boobs for support. He starts to stroke my hard nipples with my thumbs, as he pumps his cock into me. I moan. He stops my moaning with his lips, hard against mine, and suprisingly smooth. His tounge bursts into my mouth, and I let out a moan in suprise. He realeases again into me, and his cock finally goes limp. He leans against me, exauhsted. I pat his head."Good boy," I.
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